


A Few Pleasant Mistakes

by harrycrewe



Category: Father Brown - G. K. Chesterton
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-11
Updated: 2012-07-11
Packaged: 2017-11-09 15:00:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/456801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrycrewe/pseuds/harrycrewe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Father Brown and Flambeau take a walk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Few Pleasant Mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> I really have no idea what possessed me to write this.

Flambeau became a Catholic (that is to say, he found the religion he had been born too) after many years of being one of the greatest thieves on the Continent. Many of his former colleagues, and not a few of his former victims, found it just a bit depressing to see the genius of a criminal turn his sharp mind to the more mundane work of a private detective, and predicted that he would grow weary of the work in weeks - or speculated that it was all some cover for his next impossible scheme.

However, it seemed his change of heart was genuine. Flambeau's days had once been filled with mad chases through the streets of Paris while his coat clinked with hijacked silver, but he learnt to fit them instead to the confines of a respectable small office, where a dour secretary guarded the door and admitted only respectable, and therefore boring, clients. It was shocking to see how placidly he accepted this new life: quiet mornings of teapots and reading the mail, evenings of a simple supper and an early rest, and the odd holiday off with Father Brown, the bland little English priest who had 'rescued' his soul.

It was on one of these holidays that the two men found themselves, wandering on a high windy path that followed a cliff's edge, overlooking a chilly ocean. Father Brown was watching the scene with the innocent delight that was typical of him, and Flambeau found himself watching the priest watch the world, and felt Brown's simple uncomplicated happiness reflected in his own heart.

He did enjoy seeing Brown happy- liked to see him apply himself to good food, or to the enjoyment of a pleasant walk in good weather, with old company. Father Brown enjoyed his pleasures in a blameless, childlike way: Flambeau tried not to foist on the priest his own more complicated feelings but instead, more appropriately, to mirror his thoughts to Brown's. He never did quite manage it, though, and on this day, more than most, he found himself giving in to greed, although it was for information rather than material wealth.

"Father," he said. "You never did tell me how you became a Priest."

Father Brown considered the question thoughtfully. "Perhaps in the same manner that you became a criminal."

"And how is that?" 

Father Brown looked at him gently. "It is very difficult to escape from pride."

"I am proud of you," Flambeau said, fervently. "I know that you are one of the greatest minds of our generation,"

"No," said Brown, firmly. However, his round cheeks were tinted pink, although whether it was from the sharp wind, or embarrassment, or pleasure, Flambeau could not be sure. Like a thief, who sneaks in through the door left open a crack, he pressed his advantage.

"We will have eternity to be good. Surely our time on Earth is given to us so that we may make a few pleasant mistakes." 

"Only perhaps those mistakes that we don't recognize as errors until we have made them." Brown's gaze, as always steady and placid, nevertheless cut Flambeau. "Dear friend," he added. "I don't like to hear you talk this way."

Flambeau bowed to the little priest's wishes, and dropped the subject, and let his pace fall back as if he were contemplating the scenery, while Father Brown trotted ahead. 

Sometimes, when he recalled the criminal he had been, a felt a pang of regret that Brown had never run through the streets of Paris beside him. That mortal thrill, pulse racing and air pulled deep into his lungs: could anything innocent be as sweet?

But he was happy leading the life Brown had prescribed. 

"Lord," he prayed, "Grant us a day in which to be selfish." And then he thought he heard Brown's voice chiding him, in its English way: saying, bite your tongue, perish the thought.


End file.
